Existence Poem by John Prophet
Existence
Everything
will die.
Then what's
the
point?
What's
the point
to
life?
Why
life?
Why live
at all?
I
think
therefore
I die.
Was I
here to
learn,
to experience?
Was I
here by
chance,
kismet?
Is my
fleeting
puff of
existence
even
measurable?
Infinity,
time and
space.
I, unmeasurable!
Existence infinite,
as old as
time itself!
I will die,
but,
my existence
never will.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/11/2024 10:24:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
